mother holle's eiderdown: will it snow again?

In Warwickshire, we've mostly avoided the snow over the last weeks, instead getting picture postcard frost, hard ice and a mere powdery dusting, foiling any ideas of sledging. 

And I've watched my Yorkshire friends' facebook postings with a sage nod and commented to my more southerly acquaintances, 'Ah yes, snow up North,' before assailing them with tales of my first winter in Bradford as Mark's young fiancee, when he drove through a foot of snow to rescue me from my office block in gridlocked and snow blanketed Leeds, arriving at 2am with his parents in the back as 'ballast'.

The snow came to us yesterday.  It fell, at first, in those small, fast-falling dry specks that promise nothing.

"I'm afraid there won't be enough, darling," I said to Robin who sat on the windowledge, watching in anticipation, her breath steaming the cold glass.  This she ignored, and in faith, started musing on the merits of different types of snowman nose.

"Why do people use satsumas?  You're supposed to use carrots.  Satsumas look silly.  It's not right!  It should be a carrot."

As we watched, the flakes grew fat and fell from the white sky innumerable, dizzying and relentless.  It was this type of snow, I imagined, that Grimm saw as the feathers of Mother Holle's eiderdown.

Mark watched - grim too - facing more work cancellations due to snow.  But he left, this morning - slooshing 5 inches off the car - for Sunderland - via a carol service in Birmingham - with a duvet and pillow on the back seat, wellingtons in the boot and a candle in the glove compartment.

I rather like the snow as it confounds our presumptuous insistence that life be predictable and controllable.

I note that Mark's twitter feed tonight states that the 'snow has come again' to Sunderland.  So I retreat to bed and wonder if I'll see him before dawn.

Read last month's post: control freak

Emma is a columnist and feature writer for Liberti Magazine.

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